I've applied for a new job. I had heard a rumour through the Disney hotline that Grumpy was looking to retire and that Snow White was desperate to replace him as soon as possible. Now, there is an argument that Hubster is vastly more qualified for this position that I am, but lately I've been giving him a run for his money.
Nothing like living with a huge belly, making it impossible to tie your shoes or bend over normally to chase away a happy-go-lucky attitude. It's hard to get comfortable at night and once you do, forget rolling over. That simple idea takes on a whole new meaning.
There is also a 'reverse proportional' thing here too since as the belly gets bigger, your patience with family and friends gets smaller. It should be a clear warning that if you can visibly tell a woman is pregnant, speak softly and get the heck out of her way.
Pregnancy also compels your hands to be absolutely useless. They seem to have lost control completely and you end up dropping everything (including last night's dinner) creating havoc in those fun places like the kitchen and bathroom. The only consolation is that for some unexplained reason, your fingers develop a food related super force and are capable of holding on to the tiniest bit of chocolate or a tortilla chip for dear life.
All of these things set you on the road to Grumpyhood and the path is firmly fixed when you realize you've got at least 3 more months of this to go.
I see that Abaka, Anouk and Typhon are starting to look like me too, overweight and disheveled with all their extra winter fur. Not like the sleek wanna-be racers they've impersonated in the past.
I can't carry the laundry basket up from the basement without needing to wipe off the sweat and guzzle a water bottle when I reach the first floor.
When I'm at the pool, I realize that buying a grey swimsuit wasn't the best of ideas. Looking like a whale and then seeing one walk by in the mirror as I pass, just isn't good for a pregnant woman's mental health.
And I saw Musher Boy and his dad running yesterday and I had to fight back the tears.
Yes, I know. I'm growing a life here and that's what counts. I don't blame Whoopsie. At all. It's amazing feeling that little baby moving around in there. But it's just hard to surrender your body to someone else for 9 months.
I'm trying to remind myself that come spring time, when the weather warms and the sun sticks around a lot longer, my body will just be me again. Whoopsie will be here. We'll be able to see and touch that lovely little baby and enjoy all that this marinating process helps to produce.
And at that point, I'm fairly sure I'll be applying for Sleepy's job as well.